Vice
by stephi-247
Summary: Watching my own blood spill fills me with an uncanny sense of calm, as opposed to fear. Death doesn't scare me. Despite having so much to live for, i don't have the will to live for any of it. Suggested SasuNaru


A/N: I should be updating, but i actually wrote this as an original, and now, i want to know what some people think, so i changed names and i'm posting it here.  
It's really dark, beware of that.  
Idk where it came from, just be warned....  
Otherwise, i hope you enjoy it enough.

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When I first started, i never intended to keep going with it. it was just one of those stupid, one off things. Just that one time, never again, i just needed it.

Things didn't stay that way. It was always the last time. Every time i promised myself i wouldn't do it again. That I'd try to get help.

I never did. This was easier. It gave me relief, and didn't leave me feeling like i was incapable of taking care of my own problems.

No, before you ask, I didn't cut to kill. I only ever did it for the pain. The searing pain as the razor ripped open layers of my flesh. The thrill of seeing the blood trickling down my arm. As much as i loved the pain more than i can describe, those moments were filled with more hate for myself, than anything else i've ever felt. But i just couldn't help it. The rush of endorphins as i peeled my skin apart was better than anything i'd ever felt in my life. It was addicting. At the end of my day, i craved nothing more than the metallic drag through my skin. Everyone has a vice. Sometimes its smoking, alcohol, gambling, sex, drugs. Mine was cutting.

In the moments after, as i fell from my high, trying desperately to still the flow of blood before i lost too much, i could hear their voices echoing in my memory.

_'I'm here for you if you need me, just don't take it out on yourself.'_

_'I constantly thank god you'd never do something like that to yourself.'_

_'Please look after yourself baby, I don't know what i'd do if i lost you.'_

Every time, the guilt sickened me. I didn't even have a reason to do this kind of thing to myself anymore. It was just routine. I could hardly make it through my day without adding to the collections of scars on my body that were getting more and more difficult to conceal.

But whenever someone came close to finding out, i could just _feel_ their voice was filled with more anger and disapproval than there was concern. They weren't worried, they were just angry with my stupidity. Which in my eyes, gave me another reason, no matter how pathetic, that i should be doing it. Spite.

If they didn't care that i was inflicting potentially life threatening injury on myself, then what did it matter? I'd do it as much as i fucking well wanted to. They couldn't stop me

No matter how many times i told myself that, underneath it all, I just wished for one person that would find out and tell me, "Please stop, i don't want you to be hurting yourself like this."

But none of them ever did.

So i never stopped.

I relished in the sick satisfaction of controlling my actions. It was my choice. No one could take this away from me. My friends didn't deserve it, so i took out all my anger, all my frustration, all my hate, on myself. And I loved every second of it.

And now, as the blood is falling from my arm once more, instead of bandaging it up straight away as i normally would, i slice through my wrist again.

Watching my own blood spill fills me with an uncanny sense of calm, as opposed to fear. Death doesn't scare me. Despite having so much to live for, i don't have the will to live for any of it. My friends, and family, they can all go on without me. There was something in my heart telling me not to hurt them like that, but it was overpowered. For a third time, i took the razor to my skin.

I watched, mesmerized, as the life flowed out of my veins. At first i had a reason to do it, then it became my way of escaping reality, and now, its just a bad habit.

I sat down on the bathroom floor, clutching my head, feeling blood dripping on my scalp, through my hair, and sliding down my face.. I could hear Naruto's worried calls from the other side of the locked door as he knocked. Part of me was aching to go out to him, and to actually get help, like i'd been promising myself i would for all these years. But even as my body willed me to stand, and let him in, i knew i couldn't do it.

Instead, i dropped the razor to the ground with a metallic clang against the floor, and took a deep shuddering breath. I leaned my head against the cool tiles that lined the wall, sliding my eyes shut, and trying to drown out his increasingly desperate words. He didn't understand, i couldn't sort this out with him of all people.

It's not like he really cared anyway.


End file.
